


Groundhog Day

by akgerhardt, Opre999



Series: SFW [25]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crack and Existential Dread, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:53:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akgerhardt/pseuds/akgerhardt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opre999/pseuds/Opre999
Summary: It just keeps happening.
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Series: SFW [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1277960
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

Sparks keep flying into your soldering mask as you finish attaching the chest piece to the frame of your newest prototype. They glitter like sparklers as they hit your visor and sting when they graze your exposed arms and the sides of your face, but you're too in the zone to care. After testing the joints yet again, you're finally satisfied with the welding job and decide to call it quits for the… day? Night? It's easy to lose track of the outside world in this windowless workshop. 

You lift up your mask to get a faceful of LED lamps, which is no less unpleasant than watching flicks on Jake’s phone, since the dude won't bother learning how to dim the screen. Right, Jake… He’s likely passed out by now, as it’s… _midnight,_ holy shit. You squint at your watch, hoping that your weary eyes are deceiving you, but nope, it's dick o' clock and you need to haul your ass to bed before you get another concerned earful from your partner. Those one-sided heart-to-hearts always leave a guilty weight in the pit of your stomach that seem to just accumulate these days. Maybe that's why you're content to keep subsisting on soda.

Speaking of which, you vaguely remember him calling down to ask if you had a preference for dinner, then telling you it was ready, offering to bring down a plate, and later asking if he could join you, all spaced out like a distant memory. As usual, you had dismissed him each time, but you weren't dense enough to miss the crestfallen tone of his "Righto, apologies for the interruption," followed by footsteps trudging above you. Come to think of it, had you actually talked to him at all today besides that? This is becoming a pretty shitty habit, and you keep telling yourself you'll make it up to him but you have yet to follow through.

With a series of joint cracks, you sit up straight (for the first time in almost five hours) and stand. You turn off the lights, draping the basement in darkness illuminated faintly by the stairwell. You ascend, nearly falling backwards when you yawn sleepily and lose your balance in the process. Fuck, he warned you about doing that; it was only a matter of time... Falling might’ve been a more serious threat if you couldn't fly, but the rush of adrenaline hits you all the same, forcing you to full alertness. Each step creaks with the house's age- an unpleasant symphony that you've memorized by now. You opt to float above the cold hardwood floor to avoid waking him with your hoofing around. Your warm bed with him snuggled up in it sounds more and more inviting as you approach. You're fucking tired, and… you do miss him; you just have a clusterfuck of issues that leave you inclined to isolate yourself like the chick from _Frozen_ as of late. You’re not doing anything that important in your brocave, yet you find yourself drawn to holing up down there each day and immersing yourself in whatever bullshit you can come up with to distract you from your assbackwards thought processes until you're too exhausted for them to be a thing. You suppose your pregame hobbies and lifestyle haven't carried over well. You also suppose you might need therapy.

Once you finally reach the end of the hall, you notice a sound coming from what can only be Jake’s phone. You enter the shared bedroom to find that he passed out with his glasses on, something from the cloud library still playing beside him. Fuckin' adorable, albeit not a rare occurrence. Hovering over him, you carefully slide the spectacles off his face and place them on his nightstand before peeping at what he was watching. _Groundhog Day,_ a classic. Before climbing into bed, you shut off his phone and plug it in, because you may be many things but you do have his back to that extent. Gingerly, you pull the sheets up and gaze at his sleeping form curled into a ball next to you. He's almost on your side of the bed, undisturbed by the mattress dipping when you scoot closer. You want to cuddle him, hold him flush against you and give him more kisses than he can handle… but he looks so peaceful, a lock of hair hanging in his face, framing him beautifully amidst the drool. Briefly, you contemplate pushing it back into place cinematic-style. You know he'd love it if you reciprocated his corny affectionate shit, but it's not worth the risk. Not right now, at least.

As much as you'd like to study the handsome specimen all night, your eyelids feel heavy and you're spent from throwing so much energy into this latest project. The comfortable silence lulls you to sleep, mind watermarked by Bill Murray's smug expression and prematurely-receding hairline.

* * *

You wake to the sun shoving its way through the Venetian blinds and digging sharply into your eyelids. Climbing out of bed, you sluggishly walk to the kitchen for some coffee, only to find what looks to be a stack of cold strawberry-mango pancakes waiting for you, topped with honey in the shape of a heart. Naturally, Jake is sitting on the counter next to the plate, swinging his legs a bit idly as he fidgets with his phone until he notices you. He hops down, looking like he wants to give you a hug but opts against it at your reception. Instead, he steps aside for you to walk by, still beaming.

"Rise and shine, clementine! How're you feeling? Shall I heat these up for you? Maybe add a dollop of whipped cream? I thought you might-"

"M'fine," you mumble, rubbing your eyes and continuing past him to the coffee machine. Unceremoniously, you reach in to retrieve a fuckton of damp grounds from the wet filter and stuff your face, desperate to feel something other than dead tired. There's still half a pot left, so you proceed to chug it straight from the nozzle before remembering that plain black coffee is for chumps. You dig through the fridge for a Redbull and dump the entire can into the stale bean juice. You chug the rest of the energizing bog water and catch him staring. He quickly glances away and turns to pack up the meal in a Tupperware. He hesitates for a moment, then coughs.

“So, Dirk!"

You look over at him, wiping the gross dribble off your chin and neck and raising a brow. 

"... Ah, would you perchance like to meet for lunch with Jade and I today?"

"Jade and me."

"Pardon?"

"Grammar."

...

"Oh. Heheh. Er, so what do you say? It'll be a ripsnorting time had by all!" he grins hopefully. A little too hopefully, as if forced. 

"Sorry, I'm in the middle of something big. Appreciate the offer, though."

"Right, naturally, I shouldn't've sprung it on you last minute like this! Jeez that was a boorish move. 

… How about another day and time this week? You can pick!"

"I'll think about it," you offer, not planning to. 

"Dandy! And what of your evening plans? Would you fancy being occupied with the likes of me? The decision is entirely yours to make, but I've dug up some choice philosophy tomes if you just want to sit and read in silence! I've also located a cool spot for foam sword dueling- it looks outrageous! Though if that's a tad below your standards, there's also a quaint stable down the way, rather close by believe it or not! And of course, there's always-"

"Maybe another time," you interject, setting the empty pot down. You roll up the remaining grounds in the paper filter and cram the whole thing in your mouth like a goddamn animal, then head off for your daily ablution, scratching your back. He knows you'll go straight from there to the basement without another word. 

"Okie dokes! Godspeed on your endeavors!"

"Sanks," you manage, still chewing.

You wait for the substance overload to fail to stop your heart while sending your consciousness through the nine circles of hell, then dissociate in the shower and twitch for a while before re-entering your cold, dreary lair, intending to complete the prototype. You've spent weeks tweaking its pneumatics and circuitry, trying to get the system functioning just right. Falling into that familiar pattern, you let your anxious mind wander and dissect the conversation. Man, you really are a dick... You didn't have to ruin Jake's morning- he'd stop waiting for you eventually and move on. Caffeine be damned; addiction runs in the family, and you've been playing with fire at a gas station. Besides, you still have a stash of flat Crush hidden down here so Jake can't toss it during one of his doting sprees. You should've gone downstairs without making any detours. 

You'll do so tomorrow. That way he can enjoy a nice day for once without you stumbling into his Jenga tower and fucking everything up. He deserves better.

Despite your asinine behavior, he still checks in on you sporadically throughout the day, attempting to invite you to other festivities. Your phone pings a couple of times as other people reach out, but it's nothing important. After another failed attempt at a shared evening, Jake asks if he can pop his head in to give you something, but you're in the middle of welding again so you brush him off. You don’t pay attention to what he says, but you wish you had, because when you reach the top step in the dark you unceremoniously trip over that "something" and send it careening to the basement floor with a loud shatter. You turn the light back on to find the brutally obliterated remains of a foot-tall porcelain stallion. Your world seems to slow to a halt at the sight, and you kneel down, cradling pieces in your hands as you contemplate how you destroy everything good. It was beautiful- majestic, even- and you ruined it. This feels like a symbolic, life-changing moment that will forever stay with you. You twist open the unfinished bottle you were carrying and pour it out in somber silence. Its tiny face stares back up at you, none the wiser... and now there's a puddle of orange liquid, slightly adhering the shards to the linoleum. That was stupid.

Once your crisis fades enough for you to function, you sweep it up and dump it into your desk drawer. You resolve to at least try to glue it back together come morning, because you may be skilled at breaking things but it's time that you start fixing them. Besides, it was probably some one-of-a-kind antique from pre-apocalyptic Earth, and you know there are no do-overs with those. Jake would be devastated if he found out. You have to make this right, for him. And also for you, because you want to cherish that equine for all of eternity.

If only you had time powers. Hmm...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illustration of the most important scene, courtesy of MeruPuri!


End file.
